Return to Roswell
by NiceIceEdward
Summary: Only one thing could bring them out of hiding. Will it bring them all back only to destroy them? A Roswell TV show fan fiction.
1. Chapter 1

_****Authors Note: I am posting this to get an idea of whether people find this something they'd like to read. I have just begun this fic, and I'm not sure I'm going to stick with it. Your reviews; positive or negative will help me decide. If you read, please just send me a quick review as to whether you'd like to read on or if I should drop it. -Thank you, and I don't care what you read, just never stop reading. = -Nie****_

RETURN TO ROSWELL

Roswell and its concepts, characters and ideas belong to its creators. I hold ownership of nothing other than my own creative meanderings which, though taking some liberties with characters who were brought to life by a crew of geniuses long before my paltry story, I hope will not do them any disservice nor injustice.

Chapter 1  
Hopes and Dreams

Steve and Michelle Garrett believed their son Zan got only two things from his biological parents; good looks and the name Zan. The only requirement The Los Cruces Adoption Agency had insisted upon during the duration of the process, had been that his first name at least, had to remain Zan, his adoptive parents had compromised and made his name Zander officially, but everyone called him Zan. The boy was a good child, well behaved, never got in trouble and always did what he was asked to.

When he started having bad dreams in his early teens, neither parent thought anything of it. He always woke up scared, but couldn't remember what they were about. Something about the time when his thirteenth birthday drew close changed that. His parents only knew that Zan disappeared one night. They woke up and found his room empty that morning without a note, message or explanation. There was nothing to explain where he'd gone. Michelle stared at the shelves of things Zan never had seemed attached to that were left in the chilled room. Michelle Garrett watched the curtains move gently in the morning breeze blowing in through the open window, blankly unable to get her brain to understand he was gone. A birdsong from outside brought her out of it, and she screamed. Steve came running down the hall, half dressed for the meeting he was late for, socks skidding on the hard wood floors of the hall.

If they could have known, could have seen; Zan had a nightmare. It was one of many, but this time when he woke up; he remembered the dream. In this dream, he had seen many people, but in the end, it had just been six. Six he felt he'd always known and had no idea why. He'd seen things in his dream he remembered too. No, not things, places - he'd seen places. What he saw most clearly was a double glass door, and on the outside of it were letters. Even as he walked down the road toward the highway he could still vividly see those words. "Crashdown Café".

Zan searched online after he woke up, and there was only one place by that name, and it was two to three days away in Roswell, NM.

While his adoptive parents called NYPD, and things at his home went into chaos, Zan sat quietly in a semi, rolling slowly away from them, traveling southwest with a bear of a man possessing a voice like a puppy. Being a kid hitching a ride had the advantage of letting the kid travel straight through to Roswell. He was old enough to know that if he took a plane they'd find him right away. He didn't think his parents would ever dream he'd head to New Mexico from Rochester, New York. The different people Zan rode with on each leg of the trip seemed to talk constantly and he frequently, dozed off. In his dreams he saw the same people, the same six haunted his dreams, and there were others too. Faces Zan recognized and seemed to know, though he was sure he'd never met any of them at all.

All but one face was absolutely clear to him. He saw three pretty women, and three men. The women were prettier even than his Mom. The other man, he seemed to always be seeing from the back. Dark hair, and median height. He could feel them all; their happiness, and it all felt so real he was doing the craziest thing he'd ever done. He was riding down a long highway, with complete strangers going somewhere he wasn't even sure existed, to see people he'd never met.

Crazy, right? Well, the crazy had only just begun.

When the last driver Zan had hooked up with in Kansas City shook him, he looked around trying to figure out where he was and how he was up so high above the street until it came back to him. He blinked at the driver who said;

"That place you were talking about, it's down there on the next block. You can probably see the spaceship sticking out of the top there. Food there is bunk though; don't know why you'd want it, but good luck son. And listen, whatever your parents did wrong, don't wait too long to call them and let them know you're okay. "

Zan nodded and told the man he would, and then he opened the truck's door. He grabbed a handful of backpack strap, and swung down to the street with a smack. As he stepped away from the truck, it slowly pulled away with a puff of exhaust and a slow rising growl from the diesel engine.

He stepped onto the curb and stood staring down the street without moving for a minute. He hadn't seen the fake UFO in his dream, just the doors, seeing the UFO made him feel suddenly very unsure about what he'd done. His mind spun and spun about it, but in the end he knew he'd already come too far to turn around and back out when the answers to the questions he had were so close.

He walked down the sidewalk, slowing to let a few cars pass by at the intersection, and then stepped across and there they were; the double doors he'd dreamed about. The shades were dropped halfway down making the letters stand out against the white backdrop. Zan pushed the door to Crashdown Café open and walked in. He didn't know what he'd find, or what he was really there to see, but his heart was pounding like he was walking in to meet his maker.

It was nearing midday and the place was packed. The mixed scents of pancakes, bacon, maple syrup waffles, burgers and fries made his tummy twist in an ungentle reminder that he hadn't grabbed any food before he hit the road. Zan walked up to the counter behind a man wearing a denim shirt and a cowboy hat who was deep in conversation with another man on the other side of him. He sat down, putting his backpack between his feet and looked around. He searched every face in the place, and felt disappointment beginning to grow as he realized he didn't recognize any of the faces from his dreams. He absently listened to the low-voiced conversation of the two beside him as he continued to search toward the back.

"I think he accepted his part in it all a long time ago, Jeff. Sure he went through a lot to get there, but didn't we all."

"I didn't, Jim. I never got a damn chance to, they just went. Did what they wanted to, that boy stole my daughter from me."

"You know that's not true, as much as I do. Those two were never going to tolerate being separated. None of them were. You may not be able to see past them leaving, but you have to be happy that there is someone in this world who loves her the way he loves her."

"I wouldn't be too sure, Jim, we all just got left here, nothing but a lot of confused memories and mixed up messages from so many places I can't keep track of them anymore. I swear if I ever see that kid again I will-"

Zan had leaned far enough out to see the people on the other end of the counter and when the other man, Jeff he guessed, stopped talking suddenly he glanced at him. The man's eyes were locked with his own, wide open. The expression on his face was pure shock, and, was that anger he saw.

Zan frowned, and assuming the man thought he was eavesdropping said, "I wasn't listening."

In an instant the older man yelled out and was off his stool and had Zan by the shoulders, he pinned him against the counter as all the eyes in the place turned to see the cause of the scuffle.

The man glared intensely at him, and then looked behind him, and around the café like he was looking for someone, Zan figured probably someone to help beat him to pieces.

"Where is she, I know she wouldn't let you come without her. No way would she be far behind you. Where is she, tell me right now!"

The man in the hat turned around, jumping off his stool to grab his friend and Zan saw that it wasn't a cowboy hat, but a sheriff's hat. As the officer reached forward to the man holding him, he looked at Zan and just froze with his jaw hanging open. Zan stared back, was this one of the people in the dreams, he thought maybe he was.

The man holding Zan shook him, "You're gonna tell me, right now!" and the action seemed to shake the man in the hat out of his shock.

"Jeff, let the boy go, it isn't him. LOOK at him, Jeff, he's too _young_. He isn't Max, Jeff. Now let him go."

The man in the hat succeeded in working Jeff's hands loose from Zan's shoulders, and Jeff slumped back in the chair looking sad. Meanwhile, the other put his hand out.

"Sorry about that, son. Jeff gets a little excited sometimes. I'm Jim, Sheriff Jim Valenti and my over-zealous friend here is Jeff Parker, the owner of this place. I hope there are no hard feelings."

Now that Jeff was sitting down and calm, Zan began to notice he thought he might recognize the other man a bit, too.

Max took Jim's hand, "It's okay, my name is Zan, is he going to attack me again?" Zan asked, looking warily at Jeff.

Jeff was looking at him in a weird way now, searching his face. Jim continued as he let Zan's hand go.

"No, I told you he gets overzealous, but if you don't mind me asking, Zan what?"

The boy adjusted his shirt back in place and sat back on his stool again. "It's Zander Garrett, but everyone calls me Zan."

"Are you going to school around here now?"

Zan wasn't sure if he should be honest, but figured if he lied, he'd never be able to ask the bizarre questions he had.

"No, I'm from New York. I came because…"

Suddenly the idea of admitting what he was doing seemed insane. He felt his skin flush and looked at the floor.

"You've come a long way, son. I'd guess it must have been something important to bring you all this way, so why don't you just be honest and we'll see if we can help out."

A waitress came over dressed in a ridiculous old style costume with a headband sporting big Styrofoam ball topped antennae. She asked if he wanted anything and Zan ordered a cherry coke and fries.

"Orbit Rings are only ten cents more?" she offered.

"No, that's alright, just fries thanks."

Zan looked back at the Sheriff. "I know this is going to sound crazy-"

Sheriff Valenti interrupted, "It'd take a lot more than you could spill out to sound crazy to us, son. You're in Roswell, the unofficial capital of crazy." He smiled broadly and Zan felt a little of his initial tension fall away.

"Okay…well, you see I keep having these dreams. I've been having them for a while, always the same weird images and the same people, but last night they were very clear and I saw this place. I saw the door, "Crashdown Café". I hoped maybe if I came here, the nightmares and dreams might stop, and…"

The Sheriff and Jeff had exchanged several odd looks while Max had been talking. Sheriff Valenti spoke up again, "Go on son, you haven't shocked us yet."

"Well, I always see these six people, the same six people and for some stupid reason that is probably also a big step towards crazy for me, I thought they might be able to help me with my…dreams."

The two looked at each other, and Jeff said in a voice mangled by awe, "Oh my God, Jim, Tess!"

The Sheriff held up his hand, "Don't jump to conclusions just yet, Jeff." He looked back at Zan again, and somehow he seemed more interested in what Zan was saying than seemed normal, and the boy was beginning to wonder if he'd made a huge mistake.

"Zan, these dreams…would you, er….could you describe them as….well, flashes?"

Zan felt his eyes pop wide, "Yes!"

"Okay," he turned to Mr. Parker, "Prom pic, Jeff, now."

Jeff nodded, and ran to the back of the café and through the door.

"Bear with me Zan, if what you're telling me is true, we may have a few questions for you."

Zan nodded, "Well, sir, I came here because I have about a hundred of my own questions."

Jim looked over his shoulder, presumably searching for Jeff who hadn't returned yet.

"Questions such as…?" Jim left it open.

"Well, I'm adopted, sir. I haven't really ever felt I fit in, and I'd like to know if maybe these people I've been dreaming about are my real family. I wondered if they could help me with…some _things_ that confuse me." He added in a guarded tone.

"Well, Zan, we'll do whatever we can so long as it's-" Sheriff Valenti cut off as Mr. Parker came striding back in. He extended his hand out, and held in his fingertips was a photograph.

"Do any of the people you've been dreaming about, look like these people?"

Zan took the photo, and looked at it. He studied it for a long moment, feeling tears well up in his eyes. "All of them except this guy, and this girl. This guy here…he…he looks like me, but I've never met any of these people. He's been in my dreams, but I've never seen his face." Zan looked up at the Sheriff, "What is this, who are these people?"

Jeff and the Sheriff looked at each other again; a strange current of energy seemed to pass between them. Sheriff Valenti looked at Zan then the two men motioned him to follow them into the back of the restaurant. Once there Jim gently pulled his wrist out so they could both look at the photo together.

"This is Alex Whitman, he died many years ago, that is Isabel Ramirez – she's this one's sister, the one in the back there, that's Michael Guerin and his wife Maria is here. That's my son, Kyle Valenti, this girl is Liz Evans, Jeff's daughter and…"

Jim let go of Zan's wrist and put his hand on Zan's shoulder. Then raising his hand again to point; "That is Tess Harding, she died as well, many years ago. This one, the one who looks like you, that is Max, Max Evans, and if you are who I think you are, Max and Tess are your biological parents, and that would make you a very, very special young man."

Zan gaped at Jim. He had a thousand things he wanted to say, but he couldn't make his mouth form anything coherent. Images from his dreams came to him.

"They're _older_…in my dreams. They…where are they? Are they here," Zan felt his tummy flip, and felt hot and cold all over. "Are they here, in…_Roswell_?"


	2. Chapter 2

RETURN TO ROSWELL

Chapter 2  
Contact

No matter how many buckets of water they boiled, there never seemed to be enough. Too many people were ill, and there weren't ever enough drugs, people, beds, and most of all food for all the sick men, women and children who surrounded them. Still, Los Moches had been worse, and they all agreed that Hermosillo would be worse still. It took a toll, but when they could heal people quietly, and watch them rise the following day, it had its rewards.

Michael hefted one bucket over his shoulder and turned sideways to maneuver his way between the stone wall on his right, and the tent pole on his left. He'd barely stepped through it before the bucket was plucked out of his hands. "You're always working too hard, Guerin, it makes me look bad in front of the ladies."

Iz made a scoffing sound, and looked back at him over her shoulder, "It takes a good first impression to look bad later, Kyle. We know better."

Maria made no attempt to keep herself from laughing. With the work they were doing, laughter was a luxury these days, and she wouldn't hold it back. Liz chuckled a bit, but recovered quickly and rubbing her nose with the back of her wrist to keep her wet hands away from all the soft tissues on her face, she chuffed Isabel slightly. "I've always had a good opinion of Kyle." She smiled at him, and Kyle waggled his head in Isabel's direction, "There…see, at least someone in this group appreciates me." As if on cue all of them chimed in at the same time, "We all appreciate you, Kyle."

Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, Kyle turned back to grab the second bucket from Michael and added it to the trough Liz was working in. Just then Max walked out between the canvas flaps that served as a door to the hospital tent. His face was stern, and with little more than a blank look, caused them all to feel ashamed. Kyle was the first to speak up, "Sorry, Max."

Max walked up and kissed the nape of Liz's neck. "Let's just keep that stuff boiling. Sick bodies only heal when you feed them. What are you making, anyway?"

In unison, Liz and Isabel said, "Beans, of course." Stifling giggles.

Max shook his head and a slight smirk lifted one side of his mouth, "Okay, okay, dumb question - dumb answer. I get it. I didn't come out to harass anyone anyway, I just wanted to know what happened to all the extra rags."

Maria pointed across the area that was serving as their kitchen, to a wheel barrow piled to overflowing with stained, but clean rags. Walking over to illustrate, she continued, "I haven't made it to folding them yet, but they're clean and dry."

Max leaned over and gave Maria a small kiss on the cheek as he reached for a handful. "You're doing a great job, rockstar." Maria smiled and dropped a sad excuse for a curtsey, then said in a mockingly high pitched voice; "Thank you, your highness, we aim to please." Max shook his head and chuckled.

Michael leaned over from the counter where he was working as sous chef, and pulled Maria's waist against him. Michael planted a very direct kiss on the opposite cheek from the one Max had just kissed, and glared at Max pointedly. "_My_ rockstar."

Max held up both hands in surrender as best as he could with clumps of towels grasped in each hand.

As the groups laughter subsided, the sound of a motorcycle approaching came within hearing distance. Max walked over to the edge of their impromptu and watched the motorcyclist draw closer. A silent intensity had swept through them all at the first sign of the sound, and none of them joked now.

The bike seemed to be heading downhill for the other side of the tent until Max raised an arm and waved, drawing the rider's attention, who adjusted his course and began climbing the hill before them. As the bike came up over the rise, a dirt-smeared, dark, sweaty face revealed itself to be familiar, "It's just Iggy." He said, and the group all relaxed, visibly.

The boy's name was Ignacio Xavier Giquamea. Michael heard it the first time the boy introduced himself, and immediately replied, "It's nice to meet you, Iggy." And the boy had grinned so wide with only half of his teeth actually intact that they'd all adopted the name, because he so clearly loved it.

The boy sprang off his bike, leaving it in the dirt with the engine chugging softly. He ran up to Max and began speaking quickly in Spanish. Max was the only one who had really picked up the language in all its essentials. Liz was nearly as good with it as Max, but not quite. The rest of them stumbled through with pigeon-Spanish and hoped for the best. Iggy gestured wildly in the northern direction of Hermosillo, and was frowning very deeply. The more he spoke, the more Max's expression began to mirror that of the boys.

Max asked a few questions, Iggy responded, and then Max reached for the ladle they all used to drink from the fresh water sack hanging from one of the tents roof supports. The boy took it and drank several ladles full while Max turned to the rest of them to convey what he'd been told.

"Iggy's…" Max turned and queried Iggy again, one short question, then nodding, turned back to them, "Iggy's Aunt received a package this morning and she sent it down to Iggy immediately." Iggy walked to Max at that moment, pulling what looked like a tiny black rope from her pocket and, after pulling it completely out, he dropped it into Max's open and waiting hand. Max turned and opened it for the rest of them to see. Cupped in his hand was a metal pendant with a symbol on it they all recognized. "The return address was Crashdown." Max and Liz looked at each other, and whatever was in that look, it drew them to each other. The rest of them looked alternately at each other, all wearing the same questioning expression. It was Isabel who asked the question they all wanted an answer to. "Is it safe?"

Max looked at her over Liz's head, with fear and concern plain in his eyes, "Never, but we're going."

Sheriff Valenti pushed through the doors of Crashdown with an air of resignation. The TV Jeff had installed a year or so ago was showing a report on the missing boy from Rochester, and a muscle in the former Sheriff's cheek twitched. He hoped none of the kids would see the news reports before they arrived, because if they did all it would take is one look at that kid for Max. There'd be no way Max would come if he knew why the Sheriff had contacted him. Recognizing he was mildly known for harboring fugitives, the Sheriff had deduced that keeping Zan at his house wouldn't work, So Zan was hiding out in Liz's old room above the café. He'd worked hard to get his title as Sheriff back, after rejoining the department as a Deputy. He wouldn't do anything to risk it again.

He walked to his usual spot at the counter and plopped himself down on a stool. The uncomfortably young looking waitress immediately made her way towards him, already unsheathing her notepad to corner him into choosing something quickly.

"Afternoon Sheriff, what can I get you today?" She stood brandishing the pen and pad at him.

"How about a Grilled Mooncheese Sandwich, and a coffee."

"Fries or Orbit rings?" she asked him.

"Fries, please." She wrote quickly, nodded and turned away.

It had been about a week since he'd overnighted the package to one Maria Chapamea, per the directions he'd been given.

Every day they didn't arrive meant another day the boy was missing, and it was starting to wear on him in a very uncomfortable way. Of course, if things were the way he suspected, he wasn't sure what it might mean for the boy.

The waitress, her name was Cara, which in his humble opinion was only half a word, hustled over and dropped a mug of Crashdowns finest - which was a pretty decent cup at any time - on the counter before him. The bell dinged to signal an order was ready, Cara came back with his steaming sandwich and fries. After placing the plate in front of the Sheriff, she held her hand out. Assuming it was his change, having forgotten he hadn't paid yet, Sheriff Valenti held his hand out to receive it.

"Mr. Parker said to give this to you; he said you left it here last time you were in."

When she removed her hand, the Sheriff looked down to what he held in his palm. It was the contents of the package he'd sent. He started to jump up intending to run out, but stopped himself and sat back down. He called out to Cara and when she returned, said; "Could you make this to go. I just got a lead on something and I'm going to have to hit the road if I want to get off for the day by sundown." Cara nodded and took the plate and cup. She returned a moment later with a bag and his bill. The Sheriff strolled over to the register, paid and walked out.

The years of scrutiny had taught the Sheriff he needed to take his time. If he seemed excited, he'd excite people he'd just as soon have ignoring him. He got into the car and set the bag down beside him, and stuck the coffee in the cup-holder. A prosperous couple of tourist years had allowed the Roswell PD to upgrade their vehicles, and he drove a Department issued Ford Escape. It was smaller than his old truck, and he missed the Explorer, but a cruiser is a cruiser. Sheriff Valenti had had a plan in place for a long time, for just this kind of moment. So he called into the station, told them he'd had a lead on the case he'd been working on (the deputy asked if it was about the missing kid. Valenti jumped the guys case for assuming a kid from New York would ever make his way to New Mexico, as being purely stupid, and the deputy dropped the subject quickly.), and drove out to the old Brown house, his Dad's deputy's family had owned during his days as Sheriff. The house was right on the edge of Frazier wood, and butted up against the former Pohlemen house, too. Investigating things in his early days, when he was still suspicious of his Father's illness, he'd discovered a run between the two houses. After the kids had left, he'd parked a car at the Pohleman's, and left it there for future potential use.

Apparently the future was now, so he parked; went into the Brown house, and then left the Pohleman ranch house about 45 minutes later.

He was walking around the rocky area where the pods were, and was caught up in trying to figure out how he was going to get inside the pod chamber when someone spoke from the quiet behind him.

"Do you know where a guy can get a room for a night?" the voice asked.

Without turning around, Jim smiled from ear and ear, and then recovering to his normal look of determined concern. "Well, I do know of one that's been vacated since my son went away. How would that work for ya?"

"Only if it's free," the voice replied.

Sheriff Valenti turned and opened his arms for a wide hug, having recognized the voice as Kyle's.

"I've missed you, son." He said, hugging the man tight against him. He was older, 30's now, but he'd always be Jim's boy.

His father released Kyle and held him away from him by his shoulders. The Sheriff gave a cursory look behind Kyle to confirm what he already knew, and asked, "Where are the others?"

Kyle's eyes flicked briefly to the sharp cliff outcrop, near what the Sheriff knew to be the door to the pod chamber, in silent, mutual agreement they walked up the short ridge. Though it had been a long time since Crashdown, and subsequently all of the parents, had been under intense scrutiny the smoke wasn't ever going to truly clear. The first few years after the wild events of Roswell High's unforgettable graduation in 2002 had left them all under a magnifying glass, and erring on the side of caution was imperative.

Jesse had been the only one of them who was questioned, and detained. Phillip had tried every trick he could from his extensive law training, but no one would tell them where he was, whether he was alright or why he was being held.

Then one day about 3 years after Grad night, invitations had been received for funeral services for Jesse at his Mother's house. All the families had gone, and Sheriff Valenti knew from an anonymous message he'd received from Max that the kids had all had a difficult time keeping Isabel from returning to attend the service.

After that, Jeff Parker, and Phillip and Diane Evans maintained distance. They rarely met, and if they did it always coincided with some event or another to explain why they'd all been in the same place at the same time.

After going through what it was like to be those kids for a couple years, and the subsequent death of Jesse Ramirez, the Sheriff understood the need for caution in an entirely new way.

He followed Kyle up the rocky formation and then through the doorway into the inner chamber, and they were all there. They all stood around the chamber, years of being on the run making them nervous of relaxing. They were clearly nervous and wary.

They'd gone first to Canada. After assuming new names Liz had pursued a degree in molecular science, for biology and genetics. Max had worked to get a Doctorate in Medicine. Izzy, Kyle and Maria had all studied as nurses, and Michael had trained to be an EMT in the first few years, and been one pretty much ever since. After they were all finished with training, they'd slowly quit their various jobs and each joined Doctors without Borders. The first place they'd been sent to together was South America. The board decided they worked well as a team, and so moved them around often, on the other side of the border. It had been a pretty smooth transition. So far, they seemed to be safe, and it kept them within reasonable distance New Mexico for anything, at any time.

Jim hugged them all, but kept close to his son. After they hugged Max said,

"We got your message, has anything happened, are all our parents okay?" Liz followed Max's question with, "Where's my Dad, and Max's parents?"

Sheriff Valenti answered Liz's question first, "Liz, your Dad is on his way," he turned to look at Max, "and the reason I called you back here is with him. Your Mom and Dad went on vacation about a week ago Max, they're in London I think. They'll be back in about a week and a half."

Michael was standing with Maria, and said, "I'll go wait for Mr. Parker."

Everyone asked the Sheriff questions about Roswell, what was going on, what they were missing.

He told Maria, her Mom had gone to visit her sister and said Maria would have to let him know if she wanted him to tell Amy they'd visited.

When Michael came through the door, Liz was the first one to notice anticipating her Dad would be right behind him, she cried out.

"Dad!" she exclaimed just as Mr. Parker appeared. He almost ran over to Liz.

They hugged tight, and then Mr. Parker held Liz's face between his hands, "It is so good to see you, even if you don't look like my little Liz anymore, you're beautiful." Liz looked a little embarrassed but she almost glowed with happiness, and Max who never felt she should have left with them watched with a slight frown dropping his brows. Mr. Parker turned to him with a fierce glare in his eyes; "I'm never going to forget you left with her like you did. That you put her in danger and tried to push her away so many times, but … absence you know…" Mr. Parker's expression softened and he shrugged, "I'm just glad she has someone who loves her almost as much as I do so," Mr. Parker grabbed Max by the neck and pulled him forward into a hug "I guess I forgive you."

They all stood for a moment, letting the awkwardness of the first hello's settle in and relax, and then Kyle turned to his Dad. "So…Dad, what is the big mystery?!"

Jim looked at Jeff and some silent communication passed between them. Jeff nodded and with a smile at Liz, he said, "I'll be right back." Mr. Parker looked like he was a little afraid she'd leave before he returned, he walked around the wall towards the doorway. When he came back in, he was facing backward, and hesitating. He was talking to someone behind him, "Come on."

As Mr. Parker coaxed, the Sheriff turned back, "It's really nothing, we've just had a little visitor and it's going to be up to you to decide what you want to do with him."

Michael, always the one to jump to conclusions spoke first, "Is he like…a _visitor_, visitor?"

Jim smiled, and nodded his head, "In a way I guess you could say he is."

Mr. Parker was still trying to convince the 'visitor' to come in, "It's okay, come on." He said.

Finally, a kid stepped around the wall, and when his face came into view, Liz gasped. Slowly, first one, then another and finally all of their faces turned to look at Max. Max had stopped breathing and only when Liz's hand landed lightly on his arm did he remember to exhale. She said, "Oh my God, Max…"

Jim put a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed it, "It's your son, Max. It's Zan."

Max and Liz drifted unconsciously forward, their friends moving apart to let them through. The boy walked into the chamber and he was looking right back at Max, his eyes glancing nervously at the rest of them here and there, but mostly the two faces which were so very much alike kept looking at each other.

The boy stepped forward and looking up at Max, "Are you…_are_ you my real Dad?"

Max's eyes filled up, and unable to speak, he nodded. The boy looked a little nervous, but then something in his face seemed to change and he stepped forward and threw his arms around Max. Max wrapped his arms around him, and lifted him off his feet.

"My son," Max sobbed out.


End file.
